


Articulation

by intentioncraft



Series: It's Gonna Be Better [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Beards, Cuddling, Dom Cain, Implied:, Kissing, M/M, Morning After, Shaving, Sub Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 16:46:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3454439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intentioncraft/pseuds/intentioncraft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When's the last time you shaved?" Cain's knuckle catches Dean under his chin. His stubble is prickly and the colour of gingerbread and makes a scratching noise along the length of Cain’s fingers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Articulation

**Author's Note:**

> Originally started for [Dean/Cain week](deancainweek.tumblr.com) back in December but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Crossposted to [tumblr](http://intentioncrafts.tumblr.com/post/112345757883/dean-cain-same-au-as-1-and-2-1k-really).
> 
> Not beta'd, barely proofread. And in case it's not totally obvious...this entire series isn't in any sort of order. Hooray for disorganized self-indulgent fluff!

"When's the last time you shaved?" Cain's knuckle catches Dean under his chin. His stubble is prickly and the colour of gingerbread and makes a scratching noise along the length of Cain’s fingers.

"Mmf," Dean grumbles, “Dunno,” He'll stagger through this half-sleep for fifteen minutes or so, unguarded and handsy, finding places on Cain's body and claiming them gently. The crease between his thigh and groin, the spot just below his pec where his ribs stick out slightly, the knobs of his spine, fingers splayed out to cover as much skin as possible.

The sheets lay over them mostly undisturbed, as if they've only just gotten into bed instead of sleeping in them all night. Dean sleeps deeply in Cain's bed, sore, exhausted, and accomplished, barely moving except for his breathing. Last night, on his side and twining his limbs with Cain’s as he fell asleep to the sound of praise and comfort.

"A few days?"

"Maybe," Dean mutters, lips clumsy and stuck to the pillow, a wet spot at which he briefly makes a disgusted face. His eyes open a crack, shiny from sleep, and he moves his foggy gaze away from Cain’s face "I don't know."

"That's not like you," Cain replies.

"Sorry. You don't like it?"

"I didn't mean it that way. Just that I haven't seen you with this much hair on your face."

"Sorry," Dean says again, this time his grip on Cain loosening, peeling away "Getting lazy, I guess. I'll shave when I get home."

Cain’s fingers brace the curve of Dean's jaw, the perfect shape of his face. He and Dean have been sleeping together for a couple months but he’s still stunned by how beautiful Dean is, how his features walks the line between strength and grace and never stumbles, how Dean himself is very much the same.

Stroking with the grain, he wonders vaguely what it would feel like between his legs, and is tempted to ask Dean to blow him right then and there but asking Dean for sex right now would minimize what he’s trying to make Dean understand, and what Dean is trying to make him understand without saying it out loud or even realizing what he’s communicating.

He’s becoming fluent in Dean’s body language.

"It's not stated in our contract that I get to tell you what to do with your appearance."

“I know, but if you don’t like it then I’ll just shave. It’s no big deal.”

“It’s more important to me that you’re happy with it. Also, I never said I didn’t like it, Did I?”

"It's okay, I'll do it," Dean says with finality, apology, as he starts to get out of bed. Sheets falling off him, he tuck them around himself again, over his lap and around his legs, shoulders hunched as he reaches over and checks the time on his cell phone. Cain’s hand followed Dean across the mattress when he moved, but now he hesitates to touch him even though they’d been laced together, arms and legs locked, not five minutes ago. It happens that quickly.

"I’ve got an idea,” he says, sitting up and grimacing slightly at the crick in his neck from sleeping on his side, “If you’d like to hear it.”

It gets Dean’s attention again, pulls him back from wherever he was headed, “Hmm, what?” Dean asks, suddenly turning on his ass and crawling back over the width of the bed to Cain. Vague, suggestive excitement drips off of him as his hand creeps under the now tangled sheets and curls around Cain’s upper thigh, hot and dry and seductive and too eager to leave behind this conversation.

Cain does his best to ignore the tug of desire that starts low in his body, “I'd like to shave you, if you’ll let me."

It’s not what Dean was expecting, clearly. He stills and blinks, "You mean like…right now?"

"Shower first, but yes. Only if you'll let me, though."

Dean stares, “Seriously,” he says, "Why the fuck d’you wanna do that?”

“Because,” Cain says slowly, “If you go home, you’re gonna do it anyway because you’re stubborn, and no matter what I say you’ll do it thinking I’m angry with you,” he says, “If you let me do it, though...”

Dean responds to that with a disparaging laugh, a single huff of deflection. He looks away and stops feeling Cain up beneath the covers, lies on his side, propped up on his elbow.

“It’s just a beard, dude.”

“Maybe it is.”

“I mean it. You don’t have to analyze everything.”

Cain hums noncommittally, “Will you let me shave you, then?” he repeats.

Dean considers him in silence for a few seconds, his expression on the edge of two things. But this time, instead of fleeing to the other side of the bed and shutting him out, he meets Cain’s eyes, brushes his own fingers over Cain’s beard before moving in for a kiss.

It tastes like morning. Dean’s tongue is slow and lazy, and his new beard is rough on Cain’s face where his own beard doesn’t protect him. He goes deep enough and hard enough that Cain feels lightheaded in seconds, but Dean draws back with a self-satisfied noise just as Cain moans in Dean’s mouth, the sound slipping between their lips.

“You got one of those straight razors, right?” He asks.

Cain raises his eyebrow at Dean, “Do I look like I’d own anything else?”

Dean grins, "Okay, then," he says, antsy but excited, as he dips low to peck Cain on the lips again before heaving himself off the bed, “I’ll go start the shower."


End file.
